


the amateur art of love

by sirnando



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art School, Art School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:12:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: the only art Neymar produces is the art of bullshitting





	the amateur art of love

**Author's Note:**

> probably one of my least faves I've written but Neymes needs a little bit more love and I haven't written Neymar before therefore - here it is

Neymar was a self proclaimed artistic genius who signed up for art school because it was the easiest university to attend. Also the cheapest, considering his mom ordered him to get "any damn degree" and he was paying for it. That's what all the catalogs of smiling students said. Not necessarily about the easy, he assumed it was. Art class was easy in elementary school.

He arrived the first day with one pencil and a piece of paper he found floating around on his way there. He had assumed supplies would be provided, considering elementary school had been kind enough. He was wrong. But he nevertheless fulfilled their first task of self portraiture with the one pencil, without sharpening it. More of a caricature than a portrait, but the professor did not offer anything besides a raise of the brows. 

"You don't seem to wear glasses?" No. Neymar did not. But the boy sitting across from him did and he had decided he was interested in studying him.

~

His name was James according to the response during second day roll call and his nails were evidently chewed too short. He had chronic paint stains on his clothes and his glasses had been fitted over thirty times, yet they still slid down his nose. His eyebrows were meticulously plucked every morning in front of a cracked mirror. Money was limited. His degree was useless to the family. So he lived fashionably on a budget. Re wore his socks five times and washed his patterned boxers in the shared bathroom. It was probably a sin to treat Van Gogh painting underwear like that but he hoped the God would understand.

Neymar had unusually not approached him after they had all shuffled out of the hall. For one because he decided it would be best to let his interest marinate. Secondly, he was forced to redraw the portrait. This time of his true self, but his lips were too thin and his nose was the width of his two combined thumbs so he was forced to keep erasing and retrying. The final product he represented had a rip on the cheek from where his eraser had been run down and the metal tore through. A productive start for someone who was used to creating naked Zac Efron graffiti on the walls of his high school.

~

He was unsure of how to officially approach James aside from the winks and lip licks he threw across the room. It wasn’t out of shyness, but out of dramatic absence. Which meant, Neymar did not just approach without some form of memorable anecdote attached. It had to be funny. Interesting. He was in art school for fucks sake. A simple Hi would not suffice.

He decided the prime moment was during the medium practice lesson. Apparently media was the term for what you were using: pencil, charcoal, acrylic. And his friends had teased him that he’d learn nothing.

James was scraping at his paper with vine charcoal. It looked like a nose but there was a firm possibility that it was an inflated penis. It was that notion that gave Neymar his last push of encouragement.

He’d admit that it was not the best plan he’d created, but it was ingenious at 3 last night when the smoke of his blunt danced around him. It only hit him that this was questionable when he’d already pulled the squashed oil pastel from his back pocket. Had let “You dropped this” slip through his teeth.

He was thanked. James plucked it out from between his fingers and returned to adding shadow to the nose. It was definitely a nose. This was recorded as a failure to Neymar. A cruel blow to the personal successes he recorded in his head. It would be reattempted.

~

Aside from the first day portraits, there was very little official creation required of them. Neymar noticed and appreciated this. Then unappreciated his appreciation when the first real assignment was given to them. A dab in painting. Large canvas style. When he asked if this was a requirement, if the professor would perhaps provide extra credit to make up for an assignment of this type, he got a blank stare.

Similar to the blank canvas sitting in front of him when he decided the answer was a no. There was a wooden paintbrush with the butt rotting in his hand. An aesthetic, Neymar mused. So little, yet so saturated with detail. He considered turning that in after the fifth time he traced dry brush zig zags produced no inspiration. He’d seen shit like this in art museums before. And bullshit had always been his dream major.

Only until he had passed James with the blank canvas in hand did inspiration strike him. Zeus’s muses caressing his ass, sending pinpricks of ideas to his head. He hauled the thing back to its stand, sucking on a splinter that had wedged itself into his finger while he sat back down on the stool. His butt sagged over the tiny circle. Artists were foreign to comfort.

But he waited uncomfortably until 5:45, squirming in his seat, watching James flick pretty neon nothing onto his now half full canvas. He wondered what orgasmic meaning James would conjure up for it. 

And then at 5:45, then James requested permission to plop some new art piece into the toilet, Neymar nonchalantly sauntered over to James’s painting. Finger on chin, crease between the brows. His mind said “What the fuck”, his facial expression screamed “Wow the fuck”.

James appreciated the anonymous person’s care to use a light yellow for the phone number they painted at the top. Easy to cover over after he had scribbled the digits onto his palm.

~

He had smudged the last number indecipherable after washing his hands. So it took nine hang ups before he hit on the correct voice. Or what he assumed to be the correct voice.

He assumed correct. Squished Pastel Boy answered with a “It took you long enough” pulled straight out of the corny movies he looked like he watched.

~

“So what enticed you to pursue a BFA?” there was a splatter of rose on his cheeks. James used his index finger to push on the bridge of his glasses. The food was subpar. He hated salad, but felt obliged to eat something light since Squished Pastel Boy, Neymar, had paid for it. It was only the university’s only mess hall, but it was still hard earned money.

Neymar had never heard of a BFA before. Actually, there was one nerve that tickled with a vague memory, but it was most likely during the introductions seminar that he slept though. With eyes open, he was not an idiot.

“Definitely Andy Wormhole.” The name seemed familiar. An announcement for a gallery he passed by. He watched James stab at a dry piece of lettuce and winced when James put it into his mouth. Very bland for an artist. 

James did not offer much in terms of conversation. Just smiled occasionally. Inevitably pushed his glasses up, yet Neymar was still left with his mouth watering. He realized towards the end of the night that he’d not brought anything to the outing even though his mother had taught him manners and a gentleman attitude. Therefore it was her scolding voice in the bathroom after Neymar had excused himself to “release his piss” which possessed him to take the carnations decorating the sink counter.

They had a vase even though they were fake, James mused. And Neymar took that as a victory. He had planted an aha moment into James’s head. Sparked intuitive thinking. Maybe even a splash of inspiration. Wasn’t that what all artists got off on?

If James had heard Neymar’s thought process then he may not have been as willing to stumble back into his dorm with Neymar gripping his hips in the dark. James’s lights flickered and Neymar’s nose waved hi to him all the way from his forehead in the cracked mirror, but he did not have an opportunity to to joke about it since James’s fumbling fingers were already working on tugging his jeans off, lightly leading Neymar slowly down to his knees. So this was the type of artist James considered himself to be. Already worth the worship. But Neymar did not object just collapsed onto his knees, head falling into James’s growing crotch. The faster he finished his prayer to James, the faster James could paint stars in his eyes and an arch in his back.

But James didn’t even get the pleasure of a sign of the cross from Neymar, because Neymar had pulled a few inches away and was now giggling under his breath, staring. What? James was panicked. Embarrassment was his worst fear.

“Van Gogh’s mouth is on your dick.” Neymar squeaked in between laughs, “You’re already being sucked off yet you’re still begging me?” It had seemed a proper fit that morning. James’s hands fumbled to cover his crotch, but his fingers still allowed one of Van Gogh’s eyes to peek through. A new collection of giggles gripped Neymar’s throat.

James placed his palm over Neymar’s eyes and told him to pause a moment. “Just a moment. Just...wait..” but he never had an opportunity because Neymar swatted the hand away and started rising slowly.

The mood was gone. Sorry, Neymar shrugged. “But I’ll gift you with a ticket to retry this another night. Redeemable for 24 hours.” Paint over it…

~

James came to the lecture hall the next morning with crusty brown paint on his neck. Parts of it were peeling off, Neymar did James the favor of pulling the rest to expose the bluish-purple hickey. He had meant foundation when he mentioned painting, not actual acrylic. James had panicked in the morning.

They were dating now. Neymar officially declared it when he told James he missed having a boyfriend. It had been quite a while and the chemistry between them indicated they were meant to date. Neymar had been surprisingly successful in all of his chemistry classes. Partially because his teacher was impressed with Neymar’s bedroom experimentation, but only partially.

James was unable to share his opinion on the decision, but in reality he did not mind. He also missed having a boyfriend, considering it had been 14 years since his imaginary companion had disappeared completely. And he was itching, both at his neck where a rash had sprung up because of the paint, and metaphorically, to validate his ticket from last night. Van Gogh was gone from his private parts. It was Bedroom in Arles that replaced it. Something to set the mood. And it evidently worked this time around because James finally got Neymar panting on his knees.

~

It was a productive and fruitfully growing relationship, James claimed. The type where Neymar could enter late to class and squeeze James’s neck while making crackling noises before going to his seat. Gestures out of affection.

It was James’s room where they wasted most of their time. James working on certain pieces with stained fingertips and Neymar resting his head on his shoulder. Placing chaste kisses on his cheek and nose. Pushing the lenses up for James so he would not have to be interrupted. They would wait until 2 in the morning before going to the community showers. Split up the work and enter each one, collecting shampoo, conditioner, soap and once an unused condom, that people had forgotten. And in the shower that they left for last, kissed while coughing on the water flowing from overhead.

It was maybe two months in when James decided he would put Neymar’s desirable soliciting into good use. Neymar never completed homework, but James would utilize Neymar in his.

~

His first opportunity was when they were assigned a photo experimental project. Neymar was not interested in participating unless it was to be the main subject in James’s pictures.

James chose glitter as the prop. Something flashy, versatile, detailed. Neymar had instinctively thought Mess. But he allowed James’s gentle fingers spread glue onto his eyelids, tip of his nose. Accepted the specks that got stuck in his eyelashes, fluttered to his cupid's bow and bottom lip which pouted out.

James decided to accentuate different parts with the sparkles. Cheek bones. Shell of the ear. The notch between his collar bones. Neymar recommended his V line but James disagreed. Claimed it was quite an uninteresting feature of Neymar’s. Accepted Neymar’s choice to wiggle his pants down to expose it.

James replaced glitter with his tongue instead and did not need a photograph to remember.

~

The only art Neymar seemed interested in producing were the semi stick figures of James with an oversized bubble butt and popcan six packs drawn in James’s journals. He opened them up every morning and every morning there was another one of him in the top corner. There was one instance where Neymar had drawn him naked with an exceptionally detailed dick who had a smile plastered on it. Drawing James adorned a tiny ‘o’ on his face. Very similar to the one his lips had at the moment while he pawed through his pencil case for the whiteout. He left his floating head only. A memory for the rainy days.

But fine, ok. Neymar complained that James didn’t give him enough credit for the amount of artwork Neymar made. Just like his professors who weren’t giving him credit in classes. Since Neymar attended yet never fulfilled. James gently reminded him that their finger painting could not be submitted for a grade since it was virtually erased as soon as Neymar created. Neymar recommended he invite the professor’s for a live viewing of his masterpieces.

Yet oddly enough James was not too into the idea of having his elder staff analyze him while he lay naked, extended on his mattress. Neymar with a cup of chocolate bars he’d melted in the mess hall microwave, kneeling above him, one leg on either side of James’s pelvis. He’d dip one, two, three fingers in and stir them, allowed the chocolate to trickle down in splashed under James’s bellybutton, before leaning down slowly. Nose pressed firmly into the silk skin, some of the sweetness gluing itself to the tip, but he lapped up every drizzle until all he tasted was the saltiness of sweat and James’s shifting muscles. Squirming underneath him, while Neymar smeared chocolate around James’s nipples, down the middle of his chest. Sugary streaks along the insides of his thighs that he clenched when he felt the heat from Neymar’s mouth eat it up. Swirls on his collarbone where Neymar permitted his teeth to nibble, James’s hips pressing into Neymar’s at the suctioning sound of Neymar’s suckling. The messy brushstroke technique, is what he called it. Oftentimes narrated the artistic process to James who had his eyes closed and nodded in enhanced ecstasy, lips trembling with newborn pleas. A swish on his side. A swoosh along the curve of his ass. A dot on the head of James’s dick. Interpretive strokes he licked off immediately in order to start the next art piece. Except for the dot. That he licked up while feeding James’s puffy lips his chocolate fingers, before swallowing him down.

It was truly an exciting contemporary method. Neymar was disappointed James was not interested in showcasing it.

~

But interestingly enough, the most erotic thing they had done, in James’s opinion of course, was when Neymar jacked him to the rhythm of Fur Elise. It was one of the quickest climax experiences he had ever been in, regardless of the few he had to compare it with. It wasn’t even their soundsystem playing the music, but Neymar’s dorm neighbor. He’d complained on an occasion that the ass through the wall insisted on blaring “educational tunes” and James had asked to come over, so they could criticize it together. James who had pressed himself against the shared wall, eyebrows knit in exaggerated thought about the following movements he was initiating. Pulling Neymar clumsily by the shoulders closer to him, taking his hand and just plopping it on his bulge. James was slightly unaware of what else to do, just said “Let’s see how fast I’ll cum to this,” and let Neymar use his imagination for the rest. It had been “Blossoming Chestnut Branches” on his boxers that day.

~

It was not solely Neymar, Neymar, Neymar in all of James’s work. It was maybe a Neymar, Neymar and then a flower, some chickadees, an occasional board of squiggles that he wrote paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining. But he did decide to paint Neymar for their final semester assignment. Neymar decided to ignore the requirement and write his explanation piece about the intellectual depth posers for portraitures held.

Legs crossed, uncrossed. Splayed out on James’s bed while James sat on the floor with his back against the wall. He always had his knees pulled up halfway to his chest, balanced half sheets of computer paper on textbooks. The medium was watercolor with extra water. Browns, yellows, hints of green and orange.

Neymar always watched him. Neck craned uncomfortably from his position, light smirk on his mouth. James with the light pink tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Sometimes a paintbrush gripped by his teeth. Wiping imaginary paint residue onto his shirt out of habit. Wiggling toes. Flaring nostrils. Mumbling soft “shoots” under his breath. And Neymar always found it curious that James only looked up at him once or twice. A quick scan of his form. He never mentioned it but the lack of cinematic sexual tension was disappointing.

Well, maybe he had indirectly mentioned it once when he texted James that he was already prepared in his dorm room instead of waiting for the traditional preparation they did together. That was when he found Neymar on his bed, completely naked, propped up sideways on his arm. Dick brushing up on James’s sheets. That was the Flurry of Panic. James tugging at the blanket under Neymar, throwing pillows at his crotch. Someone could come in. Someone could see.

Neymar got permission to pose in tight white underwear from then on. James still only glanced up once or twice but he dwelled on the fabric-covered bulge forming for a few seconds more. James was going to need to transition to bigger paper, Neymar concluded.

~

He never got to see the paintings. He would beg, James would deny and shove him from the room to lock the door and hide them. Neymar wouldn’t lie, he raided his belongings one time in search of, but James walked in right as he hovered over the chest where they were laying. James never gave him the pleasure of knowing he was so near. He would see them first, James promised, before an official unveiling.

Maybe it was a mistake not showing him hints of the work, considering that was all he heard buzzing in his ear for the two weeks it took him to finish. Forms of “Now?” “Maybe now?” and “Show me now, please.” Until, finally, he did. And pretended they were slightly unfinished just so Neymar would get the pleasure of living in the oblivious world of the sneak peek for a few moments.

He was only painted from the shoulders up. Exact same dimensions on all nine of the mini portraits. Collarbones jutting out. Neck stretched out in differing directions. Jaw bone angled upwards, down, barely visible in the ones where he faced straight forward. Messy, glazed brushstrokes. Every movement of James’s hand recorded in the lines around Neymar’s mouth. The shadows circling his nostrils. The curl in his hair. The only place where James had tightened his technique was Neymar’s eyes and lips. Green, red, brown specks of pain, pleasure, panic in varying degrees. Parted pink lips paired with half closed lids Neymar could feel fluttering. A slight curve down with dilated pupils, the skin around his eyes stretched taut. Crinkles in the corners of his eyes, blurry teeth shining through with ears a few centimeters higher than where they were before. Discovery. Revelation. Content. Small nametags attached to the bottom of each, written in James’s neat scrawl. The overarching collection title “Muses” written in an attempted cursive at the top.

They were all snapshots from his own head. Mental photos James had taken since the first day because the first thing he had thought when he saw Neymar was that he would be extremely interesting to draw. Neymar’s tongue burned with the desire to make an objectification joke, but instead he asked the already evident “You did not need me to pose for you?” question.

That was for James’s entertainment purposes. There were portions of Neymar he only wanted his eyes to see.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.pinterest.com/amp/pin/382665299560869725/
> 
> these are the types of portraits that I have in mind of Neymar


End file.
